


Weapons Master

by dogmatix, norcumi



Series: Through a Mirror Darkly [5]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Jedi Apprentice Series - Jude Watson & Dave Wolverton
Genre: GFY, Gen, Sith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-30
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9503192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix, https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi
Summary: Micah can see how rough things have been for his old friend and Qui-Gon’s new padawan. He’s determined to help – even if they don’t seem too eager for any kind of assistance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Alyyks for a lovely and swift beta!

Being picked as a padawan really seemed to have changed Obi-Wan, though Bant couldn’t quite put a name to _how_. In the week and change since the inquest, he seemed to be trying to spend every spare moment with her. At first she’d thought it was her imagination, helped along with some of their mutual guilt over Garen. As the week wore on and blurred into two, she started to pick up on other things. When Obi-Wan thought no one was looking, there were moments when it was obvious that Garen’s death was still hitting him hard. He’d look haggard, strung tight as a wire, but the moment he thought anyone was looking his way it was back to normal, friendly Obi-Wan.

He tried so hard to be helpful, giving her advice and talking through things he’d learned out in the field. He kept going out of his way to point out various masters and knights that could take a padawan, much like they did...before.

It felt stranger, and colder, without Garen there as well.

 

* * *

 

Master Giett had been throwing himself into his classes since the inquest, and he seemed to be taking his position as Weapon Master as a promise to teach everyone more than they’d ever had reason to learn before. He was even more demanding than usual, for all that he was just as patient in showing every last step to accomplish all the new moves. Even as busy as he was keeping them all, Bant noticed the moment Siri bounded into their lightsaber class. The human was trying to keep a huge grin contained even though she was quietly bursting with joy. Siri went at practice duels with more vigor than usual, her good mood infectious.

At the end of class, all it took was for Master Giett to quirk a brow at Siri, a polite, inquisitive expression on his face. Siri’s grin widened and she almost bounced in place. “Master Dooku talked to me about being his padawan!”

Bant’s stomach did a bit of a flip flop even as Siri corrected herself. “Just initial discussions, nothing’s settled but he asked what I thought about it!”

Master Giett led the congratulations, and Bant jumped in quickly enough that it didn’t look odd. She wasn’t upset, but she did feel a bit...off-guard. She _was_ happy for Siri, of course. It was only that she’d had the suspicion – nothing more than that, though – that Master Dooku might pick her.

Now that the other students were chatting about it, Siri was just beaming, gushing about how much of a privilege it was to be picked by Master Dooku, how he excelled as a master and a duelist, just how much she could learn from him.

That funny feeling of unease seeped out of Bant’s stomach. Master Yoda had said Bant was ready to be a padawan, yes, but he’d never specified to whom. Siri was a better match for Master Dooku – not just because she was a better duelist, but because any idiot could see how much Siri _wanted_ this, having none of the reservations that Bant did. No, this was for the best.

There was a glaring lack in the congratulations, though. Bant looked around for Obi-Wan, and found him at the edge of the practice mat. He stood silent, wide-eyed, and pale as death. When Siri turned to him and half-joking, half-poking asked, “So, you happy for me, Obi-Wan?” She flashed a quick, toothy grin at one of the few classmates who could give her a real challenge in sparring practice. “What do you think, both of us being in the same lineage now?”

To everyone’s surprise, Obi-Wan just turned and walked out, moving in that deceptively fast clip that looked normal but hustled a being along. He didn’t even bother to say anything.

That left a weird silence over the class, which Master Giett tried to cover by being a bit too loud and a bit too casual as he addressed them. Bant and Siri remained at the back of the group, both looking at the closed door their age-mate had escaped through.

Surprise, a bit of offense, and just a hint of anger radiated off of Siri. “What was _that_ about?”

Bant could only shrug, because that made no sense and – well, it hurt. She would’ve expected Obi-Wan to be happy for Siri – for any of them that got a master, really.

“Well, to the Sith hells with him too,” Siri grumbled, turning her back to the door. Bant startled a bit at the curse, but she couldn’t blame Siri for the sentiment – Obi-Wan’s reaction had obviously hurt the human girl. “Betcha he’s just jealous.”

 

* * *

 

This was horrible. Obi-Wan bolted through the corridors, trying to look calm, like any padawan with an abrupt and unexpected summons from their master.

On flimsi, it made total sense. Siri was the _perfect_ match for Dooku. They were both driven, both excellent duelists. Under Dooku’s tutelage, Siri would become one of the best Knights the Order had seen in quite a while.

Anything Obi-Wan could have said would have been seen as some kind of weird grudge or wanting to rain on someone else’s parade because – oh, who knew why!

His emotions were roiling like thunderheads inside him, contained by shields on the verge of collapse. Obi-Wan was so, so afraid for Siri, so angry at Dooku. So angry at himself and still a bit at Qui-Gon.  The pain and anger caused by Garen’s death still hung between Obi-Wan and his Master. Moreover, he felt that he and Qui-Gon _should_ be able to defeat Dooku, yet he knew just how helpless they were.

Finding an empty apartment and no Qui-Gon left him flatfooted for a moment. He gave voice to his frustration in something too loud to be an aggravated whine but too quiet to be a scream. Having vented at least some of the mess of emotions, Obi-Wan forced them to heel, restructuring his shields to make sure he was at least presentable as a Jedi.

Then he grabbed the com and dialed up his master.

 

* * *

 

Qui-Gon _had_ intended to find an upcoming mission roster, to see if there was anything in the near future that might suit his skills and a new padawan. He wasn’t looking in earnest, but the prospect of freedom was a good distraction. It was nice, to have the hope that the crisis would end, and soon, and then they would take another comfortingly perilous mission on the Outer Rim, where a bit of Darkness would help instead of hinder.

He hadn’t made much progress when Plo had wandered by, striking up a conversation about his recent trip with Tyvokka to negotiate about the vertex. Plo was quite interested in finding out how Qui-Gon was doing with a new padawan, which was both awkward and gratifying. Tahl had joined in the conversation somewhere in the middle, and for a bit it felt like old times. He could ignore Plo’s newfound gravitas, and he could pretend that Tahl was uninjured – that not only had he not been too late to help, but that there had never been such a mission in the first place.

“Excuse me, Master?”

Qui-Gon pulled his com from his belt. “Yes, Obi-Wan?”

“Where are you?” Qui-Gon was trying not to tense up at the restrained sharpness in his apprentice’s voice. Upon learning he was in the Archives, Obi-Wan immediately disconnected.

“Well.” Tahl fumbled a little, but managed to pat Qui-Gon on the shoulder. “Good luck with whatever broke.”

Glaring at her was even more pointless now, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Plo just gave him a sympathetic nod. “Indeed. We shall leave you to your student, my friend.”

Obi-Wan came skidding into the library soon after Tahl and Plo left. At least matters were not so dire that the boy kept running: he immediately slowed down so as to not attract attention or Madam Nu’s wrath.

Obi-Wan tugged him over to a private corner, keeping a wary eye out for eavesdroppers as he reported the news in clipped, sharp whispers. It was a good thing that Qui-Gon was long familiar with keeping strong emotions under control. The cold shock and helpless fury were old companions he could keep well leashed, though given the worried looks Obi-Wan was shooting him _something_ was showing.

Impotent anger did have that tendency. Still. Best to not tempt fate. He motioned for Obi-Wan to be quiet, then led the way to the exit.

He should have known. Dooku was near the door, studying a shelf of ancient manuscripts with that damned smug expression of consideration that fooled too damn many.

There was no surprise in the older Sith when Dooku looked over at them. “I see news travels quickly,” he drawled with a quick glance at Obi-Wan.

Qui-Gon fought down the impulse to get between his student and Dooku – something he was sure the old bastard saw. Anyone else would have thought that Dooku’s smile was a gesture of camaraderie, not a sly and self-satisfied smirk.

“It will be nice for us to both have students again,” Dooku continued. “Perhaps we can arrange for them to spar together sometimes.”

“Perhaps,” Qui-Gon gritted out. “Excuse us.” Dooku nodded graciously, stepping aside with a sweeping bow and that damned mocking smile.

 

* * *

 

Micah kept a critical eye on the younglings dueling in the beginner lightsaber class, his mind ranging much further afield as he chewed at an annoying problem. It’d been several damn painful weeks for young Obi-Wan. An agemate and good friend of the kid’s had been killed, and another agemate had participated in it. All the younglings from that crèche group were grieving, and their crèche docents had made sure to remind them that the mindhealers were available for consultation if they needed help.

Kenobi was, understandably, taking it harder than anyone else, but ever since Tachi had shared the news that Dooku was thinking about taking her on as a padawan, he’d become moody, jumpy. Micah had been teaching weapons classes to the younglings for years, and Obi-Wan was usually more emotional, hot-headed and a bit impetuous.

It wasn’t like Qui-Gon was taking it any better. Micah’s old friend was withdrawn and pensive, which was to be expected. Xanatos–

Well. It was a fucking _fiasco_. Micah was quietly gratified that Qui-Gon didn’t seem to blame him for Xanatos’ death, but there was still an odd _tension_ to both student and master. Like they were braced for something. It didn’t seem like the battle wariness from trauma, but more like they thought the mess wasn’t over with yet.

Weirder yet, that wasn’t reflected in the Force. Now, that wasn’t odd for Qui-Gon. Micah loved the man, but he could be _the_ most reticent bastard Micah had ever met. Obi-Wan, though? The kid wasn’t an open book, but neither should he be physically almost vibrating with tension while in the Force he felt pretty damn serene.

The pieces just didn’t add up. Yes, it was possible that young Kenobi had gotten that good at shielding – particularly when one considered how out of hand Qui-Gon’s missions could get. However, Micah might have taken advantage of his position as a Council member to peek through the mission reports.

Nothing  he’d found was liable to lead to that sort of intensive training.

“Weapons Master!”

Micah turned at the hail, smiling and bowing to Master Dooku. He’d been expecting this. For someone as prestigious as Dooku, student of Yoda, there would be at minimum several opportunities to look over potential students. There would be at least the appearance of fair treatment, for all that Micah could see and feel that the students all knew this was to observe Siri. “Good afternoon, Master Dooku. What can I do for you?”

All the right pleasantries were observed, then the students went back to their duels. There were two noteworthy differences.

The obvious one: Tachi was almost glowing with delight and pride, but she wasn’t letting that get the better of her. Good. Too many younglings would be overconfident and posturing.

The bizarre change was with Obi-Wan. The boy’s face had gone blank when Dooku showed up. All right. Not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of your grand-master made a lot of sense. But the boy’s bladework changed as well, becoming rote and dull. It wasn’t _bad_ , but there was usually a spark of energy and mischief that had just evaporated. Even when Kenobi was working to contain his temper, his fighting style was _never_ this lackluster.

Something was _wrong_.

His first attempt to figure that little problem out had failed. Spectacularly. So he’d tried talking to Qui-Gon.

Hello, cold shoulder so bad his fingers had still felt frostbitten the next day.

He might have decided to take advantage of his position a little. He’d juggled his schedule around, swapping a few favors so that Obi-Wan’s small class in advanced techniques became one-on-one sessions with Micah.

The first time Obi-Wan had walked into the room, he’d blanched a little, given Micah a bit of a stinkeye, and said nothing. Some of that Micah had to put down to exhaustion: the kid had the haggard look of someone who hadn’t slept well in at least a week, if not longer.

Yeah, that wasn’t too comforting either.

Three days later, after yet another uncomfortable training session with Obi-Wan, Temple scuttlebutt started churning out a new rumor. Dooku had put in a formal request to see several initiates duel so that he might pick a padawan. Every last rumor came with Tachi’s name attached. Micah could only hope that having one of his friends situated with a teacher would calm Kenobi the hell down.

The next day, the answer was a clear and screaming ‘no.’ Kenobi stormed into the combat session with something to prove, leaving Micah somewhere between impressed and worried as all hell. He knew the signs of someone with a lot of shit pent up.  He didn’t mind helping the kid – Qui-Gon had picked a good student – but it was clear that whatever Kenobi’s problem was, sparring wasn’t going to clear it up. There was a lot of emotion boiling under the surface, which left Micah in a bit of a pickle.

Qui-Gon was _not_ doing his job if his padawan was showing that much worry, visible exhaustion, and, well, _anger._

He let Obi-Wan spar long past his session time. When the kid was practically face-planted on the floor, Micah sat down next to him. Tossed the kid a water bottle.

“So. You wanna talk about it?”

That got him a glare and a defiant chug of water.

“Figured. You still have time allotted later with your Master, but I cleared your schedule for the rest of the day. Weapon-master’s orders. Take some time to cool down properly, then go someplace and sulk over ice cream or whatever. Beer.” That got him an incredulous look, which was better than the glare, but Kenobi didn’t take the bait and open up conversation. “Whatever your favorite comfort food is. Whatever’s bothering you, you can’t beat it out of your head, so at least feed the rest of you.” Micah hopped to his feet and ambled out.

When he hit the end of the corridor, Micah tapped into the Force and ran at top speed to Qui-Gon’s rooms. He wasted a moment to compose himself before tapping the doorchime.

The moment Qui opened the door, Micah muscled his way in. Even before that, Qui-Gon looked grumpier than usual, but he could get in fucking line.

“What the f _uck,_ Qui?” Micah waited until the door hissed closed, then he started to pace. “I get you have issues – Force alone knows we all do, and I am genuinely sympathetic to the unutterable mess that was going on around this bombing fiasco. But there _are_ issues, and I maybe mentioned some concerns about those issues, and with damn good fucking reason!”

“Micah– ”

“ _No._ ” Micah snapped, cutting him off mid-growl. “You are going to listen to me and I will spar your ass onto the carpet if I have to. Oh, by the way, did you happen to know I just had a padawan trying to beat the crap out of me because of those issues I mentioned? I say ‘try’ because he’s good, but he’s got a lot of growing to do and also he _kept_ trying until he almost couldn’t move!” Micah had to take a moment, pushing his breathing into a calmer pattern before he sent his old friend quite a glare. “Your issues are spilling over onto your student. You need to do your damn job– ”

He cut off at a weird fluctuation in the Force, which was accompanied by some indecipherable look from Qui-Gon. In the Force, there was a flash of something Micah wanted to call fear. Fear, partnered with protective worry and a muddle of strong emotions that he could only call foreign and rather un-Jedi-like.

It was nice that he wasn’t talking to a blank wall anymore, but this was both weird and not good. He had to take a different approach. Micah took a small step back, raising his hands a little and softening his tone. “Qui-Gon, please. Whatever it is, let me help. We’re friends. We’ve always been friends, nothing you could do would stop us being friends.”

He had more to say, but Qui-Gon let out a bark of not-laughter and turned away.

“Just _stop,_ Micah. You’re saying things without thinking it through.”

“Are you _drunk?_ ”

He could see a flicker of – hells, sorrow was there and threaded deep throughout, but there was something else wrapped up with it. If he went with just his eyes and intuition – and were this not Qui-Gon, friend and fellow Jedi – he might have labeled it fury.

“No. I am seriously considering it, though.” Just like that, the blank wall was back.

Micah tried to rally, crossing his arms and glaring. “Look. I get that you’ve been on your own for a long time. I get that padawans are difficult, but Obi-Wan is your responsibility, and you _have_ to put him first, even before your own grief.” That at least got Qui-Gon’s attention, though it being in the form of a long, side glare was not reassuring. “Qui, your padawan is in even worse shape than you. Shit is going down, I want in. I want to _help_.”

Silence built up, going brittle as ice. “My padawan,” Qui-Gon finally said, the innocuous statement made intimidating as fuck by the frosty glare that accompanied it. “You mean the one you’ve been abusing your position to badger?”

“What the _hell_?”

Anyone else, he wouldn’t have been surprised if they advanced on him. Qui-Gon, being a contrary bastard, didn’t budge. “You thought I wouldn’t notice? For that matter, you thought he wouldn’t _mention_ it? You’ve rescheduled _every_ one of his weapon and tactics classes so that you are “directly supervising” for who the hell knows what excuse.  You’ve spent the last two weeks poking at him _and_ me. For the sake of our history and the fact that you’ve actually been doing your job and _teaching_ Obi-Wan–  ”

“Qui-Gon Jinn, if you’re not drunk, then what kind of fucking bad Spice are you _on_?" Micah wasn’t about to let this pass. He took the initiative, going up in Qui’s face, and it made his stomach churn to see this kind of, of _anger_. Never mind directed at him, just…at all. “I’m incredibly worried about you, and the youngling you have taken responsibility for! Of course I’m going to do what I can to figure out what the fuck is going on! We’ve been friends since forever – let me help!”

It was clear none of this was getting through to Qui-Gon, so Micah reached for the most absurd, outrageous thing he could think of.  “For fuck’s sake, Qui, whatever’s going on–  You could fucking _Fall_ and I’d be there to haul your ass back!”

He knew in a heartbeat he’d overextended. Qui-Gon went _still,_ face a complete mask, completely shut off from Micah.

That was more than understandable.  Micah _had_ just about called his friend Dark. He…fuck, he _did_ just say he believed his friend was in danger of Falling. Considering Xanatos–

He hadn’t just found a weak spot; he’d found a recent wound and bludgeoned it.

This was a very, very bad day. Force take it. His mouth hadn’t gotten him into trouble like this in _years_.

“Get out.” Qui-Gon was icy, voice soft and level. It was impressive how much he could convey that if Micah wasn’t gone immediately he’d be getting Force tossed out the window, and they both knew Qui would be well within his rights to do so.

He hustled out of Qui-Gon’s rooms, but he took his time trudging back to his own. That had been an abysmal crash and burn, and for the moment he was out of ideas.

Well. Aside from one: it was a very good day to get stinking drunk.

 

* * *

 

Micah had been at it less than an hour when there was pounding on his door. He couldn’t figure who the hell would be hammering the door like that in the early evening. Whoever it was apparently wasn’t going to stop until he opened up.

It was almost funny, the way Obi-Wan Kenobi muscled his way in, just like Micah had done to Qui. “What the hell did you do?” the kid hissed at him, glaring and protective as a momma bear. It would have been funny, except it really, really was not. No thirteen-year-old should look that grim, that dangerous.

Micah was just drunk enough that he decided extensive candor was called for. “I fucked up.”

“No kidding,”  Kenobi said with biting sarcasm.  It was a sign of how serious the situation was, coming from the normally respectful padawan.

Micah shook his head, wishing that whatever was going on, he hadn’t been cut out of it like this. “Something _bad_ is happening. I don’t know what. I’ve never seen Qui-Gon like this, and we’ve been friends since the crèche. _You_ know what’s going on, but gotta say, never met two close-mouthed idiots better matched before.” The kid was as much a blank wall in the Force as Qui-Gon had been, but the pain and anger twisting his face gave the lie to that. “I...basically did everything short of calling him a Sith.”

Obi-Wan just _froze._ It wasn’t like Qui, who was icy and distant, righteously angry and being a good Jedi Master – which Micah felt he himself was just pretending at, some days. There was now a good dose of fear in Kenobi’s pale face and wide eyes. Micah put his beer down on the table with a thunk.

“You want to walk out right now, I’m gonna get drunk enough it’s decent odds I’ll think this never happened.” Micah was a little surprised how level his voice was. “You want to talk about something, to your Master’s oldest friend, who would cheerfully gut any bastard who’s fucking with Qui, because I can take the fall and I know how to do it — ”

Damned if that kid didn’t laugh _just_ like Qui-Gon. That _bark_ of absolutely unamused pain masquerading as laughter.

“Don’t promise things you can’t deliver," the kid growled, and a strange and unsettling sensation crawled down Micah’s spine. He _had_ to know what was going on, now.

“I’m a Weapons Master,” he growled right back, “I can handle myself.”

Micah could practically feel Obi-Wan’s control falter. It didn’t break, not exactly, but the resistance just crumbled away from one too many pressure points.

Obi-Wan looked at Micah, and his expression was a riot of fear and fierceness that really would never be considered appropriate. “But you’re still a _Jedi_ ,” he said, as if that was all the reason in the world to cripple Micah.

He considered that for a moment. “Have a seat,” he offered. “Tea, and then we talk.”

 

* * *

 

By the time Master Giett set cups of steaming tea down on the table, Obi-Wan was listing more than he liked. It wasn’t that all the fear and fury had just gone away, but somehow it had gotten muted, numb. He was tired, he had to admit. He hadn’t been sleeping well when he’d thought Bant had gotten Dooku’s attention. That had only gotten worse with Siri’s news, and the Weapons Master’s constant supervision hadn’t helped anything.

Like how he was watching Obi-Wan at that very moment. Right. He could do this. “What do you know about our mission to Bandomeer?”

That earned him an evaluating look. “I read the report to the Council.”

Well. That made things easier. Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “Then you know how Qui-Gon and I ended up working together. About the ionite mine.” Master Giett nodded. “During the mission, Qui-Gon had done some things that didn’t end up in the report. I confronted him afterwards about...the methods he’d used.” He made himself look up at Master Giett, reminding himself that this was Qui-Gon’s good friend that had promised help. “He explained. He answered my questions, and said that he wasn’t going to hurt me, and he didn’t.”

Master Giett frowned, looking horribly confused. “What things are you talking about?”

Obi-Wan glanced away, because there was no way he could answer that head on. “During the mission, things went to hell pretty quickly. I ended up with a slave collar on my neck, complete with explosive. Qui-Gon came for me. He didn’t have to. Let’s face it, his life would have been a lot simpler if I’d ended up dead, but he came for me anyway. Then, in the mines...we were trapped. I...we had to get out, to warn the miners, but the door was locked.” Force, but it was annoying that he couldn’t keep his voice steady. “So...so I said I’d use the explosive in the collar to get the door open.”

Master Giett’s jaw dropped. “With you still _in it_?”

He sounded so aghast, Obi-Wan couldn’t stop a small smile. “Qui-Gon reacted a lot like that. He stopped me. Said...that there was another way. And there was. He opened the door.”

“How?” It was quiet, so soft and matter-of-fact that it wasn’t nearly as difficult to proceed as he thought it would be.

“He...short-circuited it with Force lightning.” It wasn’t one hundred percent accurate, but it was true, damnit.

Master Giett said nothing for a bit, which was reassuring. Then he shook his head, looking like someone had managed to clobber him upside the head. “...what? Kid, you can’t– That’s impossible. You can’t just go around accusing people of using _Force lightning_. Do you even realize what– ”

“My Master used Force lightning to short-circuit the door.” He tried to take a defiant sip of tea, but it didn’t work nearly as well as he’d hoped. Well, not like that was the only thing.

Master Giett kept staring at him for a bit, then shook his head. “You realize what you’re saying?”

As if he somehow couldn’t know! “Yes.”

He couldn’t figure out why that was getting even more of a flabbergasted stare. “Force. We have to get you away from him. Kid– ”

 

* * *

 

Kenobi’s face fell into a stubborn scowl. “No.”

Little Force gods, Micah knew teenagers could be difficult but the sheer damn certainty there was verging on terrifying. “He’s _dangerous_ – ”

“He’s _Qui-Gon_. Don’t you know him? Don’t you trust him?”

“The Qui-Gon Jinn I knew would want his padawan to be safe!” It _hurt_ , it cut deep to admit that his best friend had Fallen, but there would be a time and place to deal with that. Right now was time to deal with some poor kid who’d gotten his head twisted all around.

Said kid was standing up, glaring at Micah. “To hell with safe! Do you know how hard I had to fight to have him take me as his student?”

It was so unexpected, Micah couldn’t even figure out what that might mean. “Fight? Fight who?”

“No, not...rrgh.” Obi-Wan slumped back down into the chair, running a hand over his face. “Not like that. I argued with him. He didn’t want to teach me.”

This. Made. No. Sense. Whatsoever. “What?”

“He didn’t want to teach me. And...honestly, if there’d been someone else who’d been willing to train me, I wouldn’t have chosen Qui-Gon. But I’m not sorry I did.” Micah had a very odd moment caught between the urge to protest his friend not being a first choice, and a deep-rooted desire to get some poor kid away from a bad influence.

“He’s not a bad Master. And if I can’t be a proper Jedi...then I can be what my Master is. Someone who _helps_ the Jedi.”

That was it. Enough. “You’re talking crazy.  If he really is...Fallen... Force. We have to get you away from him. The Council can– ”

“I’m an idiot.” Obi-Wan’s quiet little whisper had so much vehemence, backed by an emotional wash of anger and hurt, that it cut right through Micah’s words.

“Kid?”

Obi-Wan glared up at him, his shoulders tight and body language hostile. “Qui-Gon told me. I asked why we couldn’t tell you and he _told_ me you’d never believe, but you kept going on and on and _on_ about how I could talk to you, how you’d help me, help Qui-Gon, so I _took a chance_.”

“You _can_ – ”

“But it’s all banthashit, isn’t it! I tell you _one thing_ about what’s going on and you’re ready to turn Qui-Gon in!”

Oh for the love of the Force. Younglings. “Obi-Wan, you don’t understand- Qui-Gon’s twisted you around– ”

“Oh gods, I’ve fucked up.” Horror and a touch of despair washed across the kid’s face and through the Force. Obi-Wan tried to lunge to his feet, but the adrenaline didn’t turn out to compensate enough for the exhaustion threading through him. He made it to his feet, wobbling long enough for Micah to lunge across the table and grab a wrist before he could make a break for it.

“No, kid, wait!”

“Let go of me, _Jedi_.”

Obi-Wan still felt more scared than anything, and while he might not be able to judge heads from tails on _anything_ at the moment, Micah could at least read intent. “Or what? You’re going to hurt me?”

“I...” There was only hesitation in the conflicted look sent Micah’s way.

He made sure to soften his voice, to be coaxing and reassuring than accusing. “You’re not that far gone. He hasn’t managed to turn you– ”

Micah could see an instant before it happened that he’d overextended and put his foot in his mouth. Again.

“Oh _fuck you_!” Obi-Wan shoved Micah away, and there was something odd happening in the Force, but Micah was paying far more attention to the padawan advancing on him, all that hurt shot through with anger and disdain. “ _This_ is what your offer to help was worth? _This_ is what you think of Qui-Gon? My Master has _never once_ told me or even _encouraged_ me to hurt a Jedi. He _helps_ you.

“He took me on as his student because t _here was no-one else_. _You_ certainly didn’t fucking want me. So you don’t get to come along now and, and be a self-righteous _coward_.”

It hurt, but it also hit home. “Kid– ”

“No. No you _shut up_! I thought if you knew he’d saved my life, I thought if I could _explain_ to you– But I was wrong. Oh gods.” The righteous fury guttered out, and it was just a tired, scared padawan remembering he was facing down a Jedi Weapons Master. He started to back away again.

Micah could _not_ afford to let the kid get away. “Wait! What’s he going to do to you if you go back now? Stay here, let me– ”

“ _Shut up!_ ” The anger was back, as Obi-Wan’s hands clenched in fists. For a moment, Micah did have to wonder if the kid was going to attack, but then tears started to well up instead. “You don’t know _anything_. You damn _idiot_. He’s never once - _never_ \- raised a hand to me. How the hell.... I thought you were his _friend_ , dammit. Doesn’t that mean _anything_?

If nothing else, the sheer amount of yo-yoing emotions in the Force was leaving Micah off balance, and Obi-Wan’s volatility between defensive anger and fleeing left Micah at least a few paces behind. “Of course I’m his friend– ”

“ _Banthashit._ You’re not even giving him a _chance_.”

For a long moment, they just looked at each other, Obi-Wan’s breathing loud in the room.

Fuck it. Micah looked the kid in the eyes and allowed his friendship and this padawan’s loyalty to overcome all common sense. “Then...explain it to me.”

He got a suspicious look for his effort. Obi-Wan swiped a hand at his cheek, trying to clear his face. “I want your _word_ that you’ll give us a week’s head start, if you go to the Council.”

Ok, perhaps not _all_ common sense. “Kid, I can’t– ”

“A week,” Obi-Wan repeated, stubborn and rock certain in the Force. “Or I’m gone.”

Micah wrestled his conscience for a moment. He’d already committed to this insanity, but that was a bit much. “...I can give you a rotation.”

“A _week_. Qui-Gon has never done _anything_ to hurt the Order.”

‘As far as you know,’ Micah added silently. In the end it came down to what little he knew against how wild eyed Obi-Wan was looking. “Two rotations. That’s the most I can promise. Even if you think it’s nuts, I have to consider your safety too.”

The appeal to reason looked to sway the kid a little. Obi-Wan hesitated, then firmed his jaw. “And even if you don’t like what you hear, you let me walk out of here, after.”

It was reasonable, all things considered, but that didn’t stop Micah from wondering if he was making a huge mistake. “Okay. Fine.” Nothing said he couldn’t run his ass off to ambush Qui-Gon, and that was still in bounds of letting Kenobi walk.

Obi-Wan kept up the suspicious glare, but didn’t seem to see the loopholes. “Okay,” he finally conceded, sitting down again and took a moment to collect himself. “You said Qui-Gon was Fallen. That’s…not the whole story.  My Master and I aren’t just Fallen, we’re– ” he paused and took a deep breath. “We’re Sith.”

“Banthashit.” It slipped out before Micah could stop himself, but all that melodrama, for _that_ kind of punchline?

Of _course_ that got the stubborn look from Obi-Wan. “We are. I mean, what else would you call us? We use the Dark side of the Force, we follow the Sith Code– ”

“No, you don’t, because if you did, you’d be going around killing Jedi.” This was becoming bewildering enough for one hell of a headache, because every time he thought he understood what was going on, the kid made it _weirder._

Obi-Wan tugged at his short padawan braid. “No, we– Look, do you even know the Sith Code?”

It...might have been a damn long while since Micah had dozed his way through that particular history class. “No, doesn’t exactly come up in everyday conversation.”

The kid nodded. “‘Peace is a lie, there is only passion. Through passion, I gain strength. Through strength, I gain power. Through power, I gain victory. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Force shall free me.’”

Well. Maybe he did remember some. That sent a distinct kind of shiver down his spine. “And that directly contradicts the Jedi Code. ‘There is no emotion, there is peace _._ ’

The eyeroll he got for that was reassuringly normal. “It contradicts _one line_ of the Jedi Code. _And._ ” Kenobi raised a finger and scowled to forestall objection. If the topic were any less grave, Micah would have grinned. “Nowhere does it say we have to fight the Jedi.”

That stopped him before he could even start the argument he’d prepared. “What.”

Damned if the kid didn’t have a patient, not-quite long suffering look for him. “Nowhere. In the Sith Code. Does it say we have to hate the Jedi. Or even hate at all.  Show me one line that says we have to be enemies.”

“But– That– The Sith were evil!”

Fuckall if that didn’t take the wind out of Kenobi’s sails a bit. “Yes, that’s true. Most Sith were evil, and the Sith _Empire_ was definitely evil. But the Jedi destroyed both the Sith Order and their Empire.

Interesting. “‘Their’ Empire. See, that says to me that you don’t think of yourself as a Sith.” Micah had to sit hard on the ‘not yet’ that wanted to escape.

“Well we’re not the _old_ Sith,” Obi-Wan declared. “We’re different. But we _do_ follow the Sith Code, and we _do_ use the Dark side. What do you think the Jedi Order would call us, if it found out about that? Should we make up some weird new name? That’d just be silly.”

Ok, he had to concede that point.

Obi-Wan settled back in his chair, eyes downcast as his posture went from snarky to subdued again. “Master Qui-Gon and I were both raised as Jedi. We’re _loyal_ to the Jedi Order.  We’re just...not Jedi.”

It was just too much, too consistent, and too fucking nuts. It felt like a dream, but the kid’s earnest conviction prevented him from laughing at the idea.  “Well then what the entire fucking _hells_ made Qui-Gon think larking off to the Dark side was a good idea?”

He really needed to remember he was at least somewhat drunk still, because it was pretty obvious that he’d put his foot in his mouth again from the way Kenobi stiffened and glared at him. “No! That’s not– ” the kid bit back the rest of his protest and took a deep breath to steady himself. “That’s something you’re going to have to talk to Qui-Gon about.”

Dammit, the kid had done it again. “Talk to Qui-Gon?”

“You said you wanted to help? Well here’s your chance. Talk to Qui-Gon, _help_ with the problem.”

Micah sat back with a sigh. That was it, that was the point his headache finally spiraled out of control. “Which is what? You wanna come back to the Jedi? Stop being Sith?” He didn’t _think_ that was what was going on, not how the kid had been arguing, but damned if he could figure out what the goal actually _was_.

With that blank look from Kenobi, Micah was right and it wasn’t that. “What? I- No. That’s not how it works.”

No, of course not. That’d be too easy. “Then why the hells are you telling me all this?”

“Because us being Sith is something you have to know for the problem to even make _sense_.”

“Ok, kid? You’re really gonna have to work on this explanation thing.” Micah was trying to find some pressure points to get the headache to go away, but that wasn’t the problem when the issue was just flat out illogic. It didn’t work that way.

“Just. Just talk to Qui-Gon. Please. He can explain the whole thing.”

It was astonishing, some days, the lengths a full-grown Jedi Master had to go to, in order to not just facepalm at everything. “If what you’re telling me is true...you want me to just waltz into a Sith’s apartment.”

“We _won’t_ hurt you. We’re _not_ your enemies.”

That was nice. Not very reassuring, but nice. Micah scrubbed a hand over his face, running over the mish-mash of facts. They didn’t quite add up. “Did Qui-Gon send you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admitted, slumping a little. At least he was being honest. “No, he-  I’m not supposed to be here, telling you this. It’s a risk, and my Master didn’t want me hurt over this, so...  And we don’t know what the Order would do to us, if it found out, but...I _can’t_ just do nothing, and we can’t figure out _anything_ that can help.”

Typical. Qui-Gon could be a closed-mouthed bastard even in the best of times, and while Micah could understand the reticence given the topic, it wasn’t like it was _helping._

“If you decide to tell the Council, I understand. I’m still holding you to your vow, but I understand.  Just _please_ talk to Qui-Gon.”

Gods dammit. Micah sighed. “Give me a moment to think, okay?”

By the time he’d worked through most of the angles, taking into consideration Obi-Wan’s not-so-artful dodges of certain facts, he looked up to find Obi-Wan had slumped back in his seat. The padawan was in that boneless sprawl of the exhausted, the lighting in the room making the bags under his eyes stand out like he’d been socked a good few times.

Well. Fuckall. He’d been able to tell the kid was worn down, but this was rather extreme.

 

* * *

 

Micah was gratified to find that Qui-Gon’s door wasn’t locked. He entered to find Qui-Gon standing as the door opened, relief clear on his face.

That was more heartening than Micah wanted to admit. He hefted the quietly snoring youngling in his arm. “I’ve brought back your Apprentice,” he said, keeping quiet even as he placed extra emphasis on the title. It wasn’t taboo to refer to padawans that way, but with the right presentation it was meant to indicate Sith students.

Qui-Gon’s eyes went wide, and Micah could see his feet shift for a more solid footing even as his hand twitched towards his lightsaber. Micah tried not to jostle Obi-Wan too much as he slumped. “Dammit. So it’s true.”

“What did you do to Obi-Wan?” It was a cold, quiet growl, not at all what he was used to hearing.

“I didn’t do anything to him, he’s just passed out a little. Might have a headache tomorrow.” Micah certainly did.

“You got him _drunk_?”

“Love of the Force, Qui, _really?_ I don’t know how much rest he’s had for the last month, but I gave him a few minutes to think after I lost track of how many adrenaline crashes and he hasn’t woken up since.” It was not helping anything that he could feel _nothing_ from Qui-Gon in the Force. Man was a fucking blank wall. “And why the _hells_ are we even talking about underage drinking, when we should be talking about underage _Sithing_?”

Qui-Gon’s face went as blank as his feel in the Force. “Give him to me.”

The icy tone might not be familiar, but Micah _was_ wise to Qui-Gon Jinn’s typical levels of craftiness. “If I do, are you going to bolt?”

Qui-Gon said nothing for a long moment. “...Micah....”

He did nothing to modulate the very cranky sigh. “The kid made me swear an oath on the Force that I’d give you two a head start of two rotations if I decided to do the sane thing and go to the Council.” Like that had happened any time in recent history of ever.

Qui-Gon kept staring, but something in the room eased a hair. “Starting when?”

“Starting whenever the fuck I feel like it, which is ‘not yet.’” Micah scowled at his idiot best friend. “Now, I’m going to go put your _Apprentice_ in his bed, and then you and I are going to _talk_ , dammit.”

There wasn’t more than a faint, exhausted mumble of what might have been protest from Obi-Wan as Micah took the kid to the padawan’s room. In what was both way too short a time and far too long, Micah was back in the living area. They sat across from each other, silent.

Micah desperately wished for something to fiddle with. A teacup would do. Or better yet, a teacup with alcohol in it. Qui-Gon’s posture was ramrod straight, hiding his hands in his sleeves, and in the Force, the bastard was _still_ a giant blank wall.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Micah burst out when he couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

Of all the infuriating things, Qui-Gon was serene and level, just _looking_ at him. “Tell you what, Micah? That I’m something Jedi are to kill on sight? That I’m something that _deserves_ to be killed on sight?

Micah groaned and tried in vain to ease his headache again. “You are a melodramatic asshole, you know that?”

Qui-Gon not only didn’t take the bait, he sent a scolding glare Micah’s way. “Considering that you may still take this to the Council, I think I’m within my rights.”

“I’m not the one that’s a– ” He couldn’t make himself say it, so he glared instead. “For fuck’s sake, Qui-Gon, _why_?”

Qui-Gon sighed, slumping a hair as his shoulders lost some of their rigidity. “How much did Obi-Wan tell you?” he asked, sounding as weary as his student had proven to be.

For all that, Micah wasn’t about to let sentiment overcome all common sense. “Before we get into that, drop your shields.”

“What?”

The good news was that Micah caught him flat footed with that. “I know it’s rude to ask, but I seriously cannot get a fucking read on you and I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t half-think you were going to murder me in this chair.”

At last, there was a clear, concrete reaction. Jaw-dropping astonishment and hurt weren’t great reactions, but it was something. “You think I’d– ?”

“ _I don’t know_ , okay?” he hissed, keeping himself from yelling by sheer virtue of channeling that intensity into something that wouldn’t wake the padawan. “Look, the kid seems pretty sure you’re not going to run around lopping off heads, but this has been a _really weird day_ , okay?”

Qui-Gon just kept looking at him, somewhere between skeptical and feline inscrutability. “Are _you_ drunk?” he asked.

“Tipsy,” Micah declared flatly. “And I intend to get fucking plastered at some point in the immediate future, but– oh.” The breath whooshed out of him like he’d been dealt a damn well executed gut-punch. There was an upswell in the Force, and Micah kept his gaze locked on Qui-Gon, sensing the man’s emotions as what has to be multi-layered shields came down one by one.

Fear.  That was the primary thing he was picking up.  Fear, shame, anger, frustration. Enough that Micah thought he could drown in them.

“How much has Obi-Wan told you?” Qui-Gon asked in that quiet, level tone that did not match his emotions in the least.

Micah made himself swallow down his unease: a Jedi did not fear. He was _trying_ to release it into the Force, but he had a lot of meditation in his future.

Meditation, and booze. “He said you were a Sith. And that you were still on our side. He was really insistent on that point.”

Qui-Gon looked away with a faint scoff that was almost as longing as it was wry. “It sounds impossible, doesn’t it.”

“Kinda, yeah. I asked the kid what the hells possessed you to go darkside, but he said I’d have to ask you so...I guess I’m asking.”

Qui-Gon’s shoulders drew in tight again, and anger grew into rage, mixing with intense shame in a way that turned Micah’s stomach. “That is both a very simple and a very complicated question. I doubt anyone would believe the answer.”

“Try me,” Micah said, sternly telling himself not to vomit. How the _hells_ did Qui-Gon live at the center of those kind of emotions without– But that was the entire problem, wasn’t it?

Qui-Gon’s smile held all the warmth of Illum’s chill winds. “My Master was Dooku.”

Micah shook his head. “And, what? You were young and stupid and got into his research? Found a holocron you weren’t supposed to?”

Almost before the words had left his mouth, he found himself with one hand on the chair’s armrest, heart thundering under his ribs.  Qui-Gon hadn’t moved so much as a finger, but the sheer screaming hatred in the air made Micah feel like a hunted animal in front of a predator.  Qui-Gon’s eyes weren’t yellow, but _gods_ , Micah would not have been surprised if they had been.

Qui-Gon closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The seething emotions pulled back: not gone, but muted. “Obi-Wan and I are not the only Sith in the Jedi Temple. There is one more. Dooku was already a Sith when he picked me for my ‘saber skills. I was _nine_ ,” Qui-Gon said through clenched teeth, voice thick with all the emotions roiling in the Force.

That– For all that it made horrible sense, that did not add up in any way Micah could understand. This was– It _couldn’t_ – “Gods, what happened?”

Qui opened his mouth, then closed it. His emotions, even dialed back, still felt like acid on Micah’s skin. It seemed it was too much for him as well. Qui-Gon stood up, starting to pace. “Dooku taught me the ways of the Force,” he gritted out. “He just neglected to tell me which _side_ of the Force.”

 _“_ Master?” a quiet voice says from Obi-Wan’s room, even as Micah was grappling with that – that _impossibility._

He turned to see the kid leaning against the doorway, obviously not completely awake. “W’az wrong?”

In a heartbeat, Qui-Gon’s emotions reined themselves in, stuffed back into their box as he strode over to his student.  “Nothing’s wrong, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, his rumbling voice quiet and reassuring as he put a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Go back to bed.”

Obi-Wan wavered, still frowning. “mrh?”

“I’m sure,” Qui-Gon answered, gently turning the kid around and nudging him back to bed, and Obi-Wan went without grumbling.

Micah just about had emotional whiplash by then. He didn’t know if their volatility stemmed from the whole Dark side Sith thing, or if it was just a bad habit the kid had picked up from Qui.

He wouldn’t put it past either of them to be sharing bad habits. Of course, contemplating that meant he could avoid the real quandary. Micah wasn’t sure where to even _start_ processing what Qui had told him, so he decided to shelve it for the moment.

“Why the kid?” he asked when Qui sat back down.

Qui-Gon looked at Micah, face blank, but the walls hadn’t gone back up. “Because he asked.” Qui-Gon looked away. “Because I...because I wanted a student.”

It’d been a damn long while since Micah had felt so conflicted. He regretted _all_ the recent times he’d poked and joked at his friend because Qui-Gon had long been one of those beings to do well with others under their care, and his friends had conspired to remind and reassure him that padawans were a good thing.

That had backfired in a rather spectacular manner.

Oh. _Fuck._ Micah realized something, and set his jaw. “Qui-Gon...I don’t want to ask this, but I have to know.  What went wrong with Xanatos?”

There was a flare of emotions so tangled Micah doubted that Qui-Gon himself knew exactly what he was feeling. “What went wrong was that I was overconfident. I’d been taught to pass as a Jedi, while in the Temple, and I thought...I thought, _surely_ , if I could pass as a Jedi, if I had the knowledge of the techniques, I could train a Jedi.” Qui-Gon’s eyes were closed, brows furrowed, and a subdued beat of regret and sorrow flowed through the Force. “I was wrong. I was so very, damnably wrong.”

Micah’s head was spinning. The Force was topsy-turvy with Qui-Gon’s emotions. He knew when he’d reached max capacity for a particular matter. “Your student’s been skipping out on an awful lot of sleep. I take it you’ve been doing your usual thing and being even worse?”

That earned him a glare, which only highlighted the bags under Qui-Gon’s eyes. “Thought so. Well. I’m drunk, you’re exhausted, and the kid shouldn’t be stirring for anything short of a full-fledged war. So tell you what. You go use your bed for the intended purpose, instead of a flat surface to pile reports and shit on, I will claim your horribly uncomfortable couch, and we see if we can’t process actual information in the morning?”

Having dazed relief thread through that mire of Qui-Gon’s emotions was not reassuring in the slightest.

 

* * *

 

Micah was the first one to wake up. He took shameless advantage of that, making tea and mulling over...the whole damn mess. Looking over the past rotation, he was a little astonished he hadn’t gotten a ball of baby Sith lightning to the face from Kenobi. He really would have had no one to blame but himself, either, given the...less than _tactful_ comments he’d made. Alcohol tended to loosen his tongue, and he hadn’t been doing so great in the tact department even before that.

Obi-Wan was the next to stumble into the kitchen area, bleary and squinting against the light, in the way one did when over-exhaustion led to loads more sleep than usual. The kid screeched to a halt and gave him a blank look.

Micah could see the memory coming back and realization setting in. There was fear – quickly tucked away under shields, but the wide-eyed, absolutely pale look on the kid’s face was still there.

He walked over, and Kenobi drew himself up, looking like he was steeling himself for battle. “What – what are you going to do?”

“First, tea.” Micah pressed a warm mug into the kid’s hands. Kenobi just stated down at the cup, baffled.

Micah knew the feeling. He wasn’t exactly sanguine about the anger and fear he’d seen out of these two, but on the other hand, he hadn’t been able to figure if _he’d_ be that calm if he were thirteen years old and surrounded by Sith, which he supposed was the equivalent situation.

...damned if that wasn’t a bizarre notion.

The kid was still staring down at the cup. “Tea.”

“None for me?” Qui-Gon near grumbled as he emerged from his room.

Good to see some things never changed. Micah managed to keep from blurting out anything until both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were somewhat awake, and Qui sent him a curious look.

“I have so many questions, you don’t even know. But the first question is this – what the hell happened to make you two so damn jumpy?”

There went Qui-Gon, his eyes sliding away even as Micah could see him fighting to not hunch his shoulders again. “Being a...being a Sith and training an Apprentice in the middle of the Jedi temple isn’t enough?”

It was hard not to snort in disbelief. Micah settled for a reproving look. “Knowing you? No.” He leaned back and cuddled his tea a little closer. “Besides, I’d bet my lightsaber this is something more recent.”

That seemed to bring the old Qui-Gon back, with that arch expression and raised, skeptical brow. “Confident of you.”

“Am I right?”

Qui ought to have known better than to try to bluff Micah. “...Yes.”

The silence stretched out just long enough to make it clear that Qui-Gon wasn’t going to volunteer a single damned thing. “And? So? _Tell_ me, dammit.”

“It’s my fault,” Obi-Wan whispered into his mug.

“It is not your fault,” Qui-Gon growled back. He sighed and shook his head. “It is not at all your fault, Obi-Wan.” He stalled for a bit, sipping tea and visibly struggling to get his emotions under control. “I told you about...who trained me,” he said, not quite able to meet Micah’s eyes.

Dooku was known for his interest in history and Sith in particular, but... “You’re gonna have to give me a bit more time on that one. I’ve accepted ten kinds of crazy in the past rotation, and yeah it makes a kind of sense, in the same way that any of this makes sense but...just give me time,” he grimaced. “Proof would be good too, if you have any.”

“Only circumstantial evidence.”

Well. Better than nothing. “Yeah? Like what?” He was hoping it was something he could verify, check in the Order’s reports or something.

“Komari Vosa.”

Micah frowned. “Vosa?” Most of what he recalled about her was that she’d washed out of the Order as a padawan – there’d been a bit of a fuss around that time, but he’d been neck deep in perfecting staff fighting then. Plo Koon was a crèchemate, a bit of a perfectionist, and an absolute asshole to learn from.

Qui-Gon had a thin smile. “I was the first Apprentice, but not the only one.”

Oh. Oh, shit _._ Qui-Gon had been so busy with Xanatos around then that it was easy to forget that– Ooooh, _shit_. She was one of Dooku’s too. “Dammit, I hate it when you make sense.”

Qui snorted. “Yes. Well. I don’t know if her emotional instability was caused by the Sith training or merely exacerbated by it, but I’d bet Dooku encouraged some aspects of it rather than trying to help. That’s certainly the way it worked with me.”

Micah hated how lost that statement left Qui-Gon looking. “Okay, part of me is convinced, but I don’t suppose you have anything more than your sister padawan developing an unhealthy obsession and taking being turned down for knighthood really, _really_ badly?”

Qui-Gon was quiet for a long moment. “You’re aware of Dooku and Vosa’s mission to Mandalore, and how it went wrong, correct? I know it’s not common knowledge, but the Council has access to the report.”

“Yeah, there was a lot of miscommunication going on there.” Micah couldn’t stop a grimace. Some violent splinter group of Mandalorians on Galidraan had started slaughtering political activists. The end result was half a Jedi strike force dead, scores of dead Mandalorians, and a single Mando’ade – the leader – left alive. Nasty, nasty business.

Qui-Gon sneered. “‘Miscommunication.’ Of course.” Qui-Gon returned Micah’s stare with a humorless smile. “Vosa killed a lot of beings on that mission. More than was called for, in hindsight.” His fists clenched, and in the Force his emotions went even more opaque. “I know that tactic. By the time I was ‘Knighted,’ I had more blood on my hands than any Jedi should have. Mandalore is the outlier not for what happened there, but for the fact that it became known to the Council as a whole.”

All Micah could do was sit there and be stunned.

“After I had ruined Xanatos, trying to train him to be a Jedi, and Dooku had ruined Komari, I went to him. I threatened that if he ever took another student, I would go before the Council and tell them _everything_. That I would take him down with me.

“I never thought to take another student myself.” He looked over at a pale Obi-Wan who was trying to nonchalantly hide behind his tea mug. “And now I have.”

It made too much sense. It fit together in a way that no lie could, too complex and interwoven without the inconsistencies of fabrication. It rang in the Force as true. “And so now Dooku is looking to do the same,” he reasoned.

He had to wonder if Qui had always had that razor-thin, humourless smile. “Yes. He’s taunting me, throwing my threat back in my face – he thinks I’m ‘too soft,’ and he’s betting that I wouldn’t risk Obi-Wan by confessing to the Council.” Qui-Gon’s shoulders sagged, and he looked far too old. “He’s right. And now another young life hangs in the balance.”

The three sat in oppressive, beaten silence for a long moment. Micah finally nodded. “So. Uh. We need to keep Dooku from taking on Tachi as a new student, without outing him or either of you. Right?”

There went that damned not-smile again. “That would be the gist of it, yes. Though... ‘We?’”

Micah bared his teeth in a fierce grin. “Damn right. Where do we start?”

 

* * *

 

The problem with deciding to take action, was that the course of action was murky as hell. The three spent longer than Micah quite liked batting around possibilities, without finding anything solid. The best notion that they could find – such as it was – was Micah stepping up to take Tachi as a padawan learner. He didn’t like it for any number of reasons. Oh, sure, Tachi was damned capable, and a good kid, but he was between students and rather liked not having to chase around after some crazy hothead that wasn’t one of his peers. Between himself, Qui-Gon, Plo, and Tahl, they had the market on crazy well covered.

Also, Dooku might be an evil Sith lord (somehow, not as redundant a statement as Micah would have once thought), and one hell of a manipulative asshole, but it was still poaching. Sure, Micah didn’t mind pulling the rug out from under Dooku, but the rest of the Order would still frown on the action. That...could go _poorly_ for Tachi.

It wasn’t their only plan, but it was the best by a long measure. That said, he still didn’t like it. Micah ambled back to his rooms with that not-quite-a-headache of too much information, nebulous plans, and the whiplash of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s emotions.

He had to wonder if he’d gone a little bit nuts, somewhere along the line; knowingly collaborating with real live Sith...to protect a Jedi initiate from another Sith. Even holodramas didn't have plots that outrageous.

A long shower and some meditation had him feeling mostly human and ready for the day. By the end of his second class, he’d even figured out several approaches he could take to broaching the subject with Siri Tachi – subtle, or at least he hoped. Gentle. No bull-rushing in and making things obvious.

He was honestly surprised at the emotional gutpunch when Siri Tachi bounded into class beaming with pride, padawan braid tucked neatly behind her ear.

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Refraction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9644126) by [dogmatix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogmatix/pseuds/dogmatix), [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/pseuds/norcumi)




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